You Can't Mess With Fate
by AleutianTempest
Summary: DEADLIEST CATCH: Phil Harris and the Cornelia Marie get a new deckhand who takes care of the crew and shakes things up a bit. First attempt at a pseudo-realistic story about life on the Bering Sea with a little romance and danger thrown in. Enjoy!
1. You can't mess with fate

"**You can't mess with fate."**

It was a cold day in Dutch Harbor, Alaska, as Phil Harris and Murray Gamrath walked up the gravel road away from the docks. November in the far north always brought with it freezing cold temperatures, sometimes snow and ice, and today was no exception. Phil's breath created a fog in front of him as he trudged down the side of the road, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his worn leather jacket. Eyeing the weathered blue building further down the road, he walked a little faster in anticipation of getting in out of the cold. Murray matched Phil's lengthened stride. Neither man spoke as their boots crunched over the snow and gravel.

The men were about to ship out again for yet another season's crab fishing – this time going after the elusive red king crab. Last year's season, both for king crab and for opilio, had been long and hard. For the first time he could remember, Phil had had hardly any luck finding the crab. He'd guided his boat, the Cornelia Marie, back and forth across the Bering Sea, searching for the spots crab usually gravitated towards – muddy ocean bottoms with ample food sources. The king crab season had been drawn out much longer than usual because of this – being a large and historically well-producing boat, the Cornelia Marie had a huge quota to fill, and in better years had filled the pockets of the captain and deckhands in short order. Last year, however, was filled with weeks and weeks of backbreaking work on little sleep, and problems with the Cornelia Marie's engines and props didn't help matters. Phil ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair as he thought about the stress of that season; it had certainly given him a few more grey hairs and raised his blood pressure more than a few points. The opilio season had brought even more bad luck for the Cornelia Marie and her crew. They started off promisingly, pulling good numbers in the pots, but Phil's health had deteriorated quickly. After being thrown from his bunk into a dresser when the boat took a rogue wave, Phil had cracked three ribs and punctured a lung. Determined to keep fishing, he told only Murray Gamrath, his relief captain, and made him promise not to tell his sons. He didn't want Jake and Josh worrying about something like his health when they were out on deck pulling pots. The rough conditions and Phil's effective refusal to attend to his own health brought on a pulmonary aneurysm, forcing him to drive the boat to Dutch and go into the hospital, and leaving Murray to finish the season as captain.

Just thinking about it made Phil angry with himself. God, it had killed him to leave the Cornelia Marie and his sons and crew out there in the middle of opie season. He shook his head.

Murray noticed his old friend's inner turmoil. He knew Phil was still beating himself up over last season.

"Just get back out there for king crab this season, alright man? We need you _and_ the boat – you're a package deal for us, okay?"

Phil looked at Murray, startled. His clear blue eyes shone in the bright sun glinting off of the snow-dusted ground. His expression softened somewhat; he couldn't hide anything from Murray. Murray was the one who had insisted Phil get medical attention last season.

"Let's just get inside and get a drink first, eh?" Phil finally said. Murray nodded in agreement.

They finally reached the dirty blue building. The Elbow Room bar had been pummeled by the cold winds coming off of the Bering Sea for years and definitely looked worse for wear on the outside. Inside, however, the bar was comfortable and warm, the tables and stools worn by the years of Bering Sea fishermen coming in for just one more drink before they left for a trip or their first celebratory toast after arriving in port and offloading their catch. Phil and Murray sidled up to the bar, unwrapping their layers of clothing as they pulled out two stools. The bar's owner and bartender recognized the two men and walked cheerily over to them.

"Well, well, if it isn't my two favorite boys!" Ashleigh Olmstead beamed as she squeezed both Phil's and Murray's hands. "Missed you guys this summer."

"I'm sure you couldn't have missed us too much, what with your new husband being home with you," Phil grinned. "I guess we're going to have to stop dating each other now, aren't we Ashleigh?"

Ashleigh's bright eyes sparkled as she winked at Phil. She was young, maybe in her late twenties, and she had just married captain Lars Olmstead of the Alaskan Lady, one of Phil's partner boats.

"Maybe so, Phil. I think I might make it my project to find you a new lady though, now that you're trying to clean up your health and all." She playfully swatted him with her bar towel.

"Now, who told you that?" Phil looked at Murray and made the connection when Murray made a show of averting his gaze. "Gee, thanks a lot man! Now everyone's going to think I've gone soft!" he said, with mock annoyance.

"What can I get for you guys then?" Ashleigh pulled two short glasses from behind the bar, anticipating their usual double scotches.

Murray smiled. "It looks like you already got us covered."

"Mm hm." Ashleigh expertly poured their drinks. "First drink of the season's on the house."

Both men thanked her as they clinked their glasses and took a sip. Phil pulled out his cigarettes and offered one to Murray.

"I don't know, man. I'm a bit more worried than usual about going out there this year." Phil blew out a stream of smoke over the bar. "With what happened last year, you know. I'm not looking to be a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest again with the numbers in these pots, either."

Murray glanced sideways at Phil. The captain looked more anxious than he typically did before going out on a fishing trip.

"I think you just need to make sure you can relax on board. I know this is going to be damn near impossible for you, but you should really try to relax about the numbers thing." Murray knew that most of Phil's stress came from being not only captain of the Cornelia Marie, but also part owner, and he was feeling the pressure to perform. Phil sighed and took another long drag on his cigarette.

Murray decided to try another tack.

"You know, what might make things easier on you – and all the guys really – would be having another deckhand on board who is also a cook. God knows none of us eats good food like we need to when we're fishing, and you especially need somebody to make sure you're getting healthy meals out there." Murray didn't elaborate, but privately he thought a cook on board could also keep an eye on Phil and make sure nothing bad was going on with his health. After kicking himself all summer about leaving his crew during opies last year, Murray didn't trust Phil to monitor himself with an impartial eye.

Phil thought a moment. "You know, that's not such a bad idea. I've been thinking about getting another hand on board anyways, maybe make things a little easier on the guys what with Dave's ankle still being tender and all. Problem now is, we're leaving port in two days – I don't think I'm going to have much luck finding a guy at this late date." He took another slow sip of scotch.

"I guess we're in the best place to find somebody without a gig for this season." Murray glanced around at the bar, which was beginning to fill up with men. The start of the season tomorrow meant one more time to party on land tonight, and the younger fishermen were definitely starting to take advantage of that. With laughing eyes, he watched a pair of boys from the Wizard tentatively approach a couple of local girls on the other side of the room.

"So get this – the other day my doctor told me I should look into getting a professional massage," Phil interrupted Murray's people-watching. Murray turned towards him with a confused look on his face.

"What?"

"Yeah. I don't know what to think of that. I've never been to a masseuse – I guess the correct term is massage therapist – before. After that clot problem I had last year, the doc said that getting regular massages would help my circulation."

Murray rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. "I heard that ol' Corky over on the Aleutian Ballad hired a deckhand who was also a massage therapist. I think he might also have been a cook – I guess it makes sense, if you think about it. Doing this job is like running a marathon every day, right?"

Phil nodded.

Murray continued, "well, I guess Corky had his 'hand doing some deck work with the rest of them, then he'd cook whenever and do massages for the guys after the shift was over. Corky's been doing it for a few seasons now, and his boat's sure been producing a lot of crab. He said his men seem really ready to get working when they go out on deck now – I guess the massage helps them relax so they can sleep better, and he hasn't had any injuries since that started either."

Both men knocked on the wooden railing of the bar. No sense bringing bad juju on one of their fellow captains. Phil scratched his chin thoughtfully. Maybe this was really something to look into. He could probably get used to getting a massage every once in awhile.

A gust of cold air swept into the bar as someone entered from the road. The wind was picking up as the night came on, and at this time of year, Dutch Harbor only got a few hours of sun during the day. It would get even closer to polar night as the season wore on into opilio crab in January. Someone stepped up to the bar behind Murray and Ashleigh bustled over.

"How you doing sweetie? Haven't seen you in awhile!"

"Yeah, I know – Corky's been docking in Aquitaine the last couple of trips. I'm happy to be back in Dutch again, even though I apparently just lost my job."

Phil and Murray both looked over when they heard the woman's voice in reply. Phil drew in his breath at the sight of her – she was young, probably mid to late twenties, with a shock of wavy auburn hair flowing over the shoulders of her dark green parka. She pulled her scarf from around her neck and slid her coat off, revealing an intricately detailed sleeve tattoo down her entire left arm. The woman looked vaguely familiar, Phil thought.

Ashleigh's face was shocked. "What happened, babe?"

The woman shook her head sadly. "The Aleutian Ballad's owner decided at the last minute to lease out his king crab quota this year. I don't know what the hell that guy's problem is, because Corky's been making him a ton of money in the last couple of seasons." She pulled her long hair behind her and deftly tied it in a knot at the base of her neck.

Phil was mesmerized. Apparently this woman was a crabber as well. Murray kicked Phil under the bar and Phil jumped.

Ashleigh looked at him in amusement. "Have you three met?" she asked, looking between the three crabbers at the bar. Murray and Phil turned toward the woman as if noticing her for the first time, but Ashleigh wasn't fooled by their nonchalance.

"I don't think so," replied the woman, extending her hand first to Murray. "I'm Dagmar Larsen – I guess formerly of the Aleutian Ballad."

"Murray Gamrath," he returned, gripping her hand. "This is Phil Harris, captain of the Cornelia Marie." Murray gestured towards Phil.

Phil reached out to shake Dagmar's hand, still at a bit of a loss for words. He had seen a look of recognition cross her face at the mention of his boat.

"Nice to meet you," he finally choked out, his voice sounding even more gravelly than normal. He cleared his throat.

"You too," Dagmar said easily. "I've heard of your boat, of course – you guys had that monster opie season a couple of years back, right?"

"Yeah, yeah we did." Phil had almost forgotten about that year – the Cornelia Marie had had a season for the books – they'd pulled about a thousand average per pot, which was pretty huge.

"Sorry to hear about the Ballad," Murray diverted the conversation. He'd had enough of Phil's awkward replies. "Were you a deckhand on board, or…" He didn't want to insult her by implying that she was only a cook or some other kind of housecat. He'd only met a few actual Bering Sea fisherwomen in his time, but they'd all been fierce as hell, and he wasn't trying to upset anyone.

Dagmar smiled at his carefully worded question. Finding a sensitive fisherman anywhere was pretty rare.

"Well, I was kind of a jack of all trades on the Aleutian Ballad. I started off as a deckhand on another boat maybe ten years back or so. I had to take some time off because of an injury and went to get certified as a massage therapist. By the time I came back, my old boat had gotten a replacement for me, and I was lucky to get on with Corky. He'd been looking for another 'hand, and my being a massage therapist helped him decide to hire me, I think. I cooked for the guys, too, so I'd like to think I kept him and his crew pretty healthy."

_So this was the massage therapist from Corky's boat_. Phil was doing his best to look nonchalant, but he was enthralled by this girl sitting at the bar with them. Dagmar's voice was low and melodious, and her rich reddish-brown hair was offset by the healthy glow of her lightly tanned skin. Her bright blue eyes were framed by long russet lashes, and she looked comfortably cheerful, as if she laughed often. Phil could see where she would develop laugh lines around her eyes as she got older – something he found irresistible. Her arms were smooth but well muscled, and her short stature belied her obvious strength – Dagmar was built like a thoroughbred, lean but solid, and Phil could see how she'd be strong doing deck work. Murray elbowed him out of his reverie.

"Sounds like you know your way around a crab boat," Murray quipped, giving Phil some time to get it together.

Ashleigh nodded agreeably. "Dagmar's an awesome girl to have on a boat. She's stronger than most guys. And smarter, obviously!" She elbowed Dagmar playfully and the two girls shared a laugh.

Phil's impulse was to ask her to join them on the Cornelia Marie right away, but he wasn't used to making such split-second decisions about crewmembers – especially since he'd never had to worry about finding one of his crew so attractive. Although, he reasoned, Dagmar's meeting them like this may very well have been preordained. This was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Phil nudged Murray and looked at him with questioning eyes. Without even having to ask, Murray nodded his approval. Phil took a deep breath.

"Well, I don't know if you're willing to go out so soon, but we're actually looking for another deckhand and cook on the Cornelia Marie," Phil said hopefully. "We're heading out in two days, though."

At his words, Dagmar looked up brightly.

"Seriously? I'd love to. I've been living on a boat for the past three years, so moving in short order isn't a big deal to me. I live out of a duffel bag."

Phil broke into a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He extended his hand to shake hers again.

"It's a deal then. This is pretty crazy, but I was just talking to Murray here not five minutes before you came in about how my doc's been telling me to see a massage therapist. I kind of had some pretty bad circulation problems last season, and he suggested I look into that. I don't know if you're interested in that job also. For me and the rest of the crew, I mean." Phil felt kind of funny suggesting it, but Dagmar looked delighted.

"That would be great!" she exclaimed. "Man, I guess it's kind of prophetic that I happened to come in here just now. You can't mess with fate."


	2. Feels good to be back, huh?

A/N: I don't have anything to do with any of the people from Deadliest Catch (unfortunately) and I make absolutely no money from this! Just all in good fun and a way to pass the time at work…

"**Feels good to be back, huh?"**

"Watch that pot! Behind you, Dave!"

Dave Millman, one of the senior deckhands on the Cornelia Marie, quickly shuffled out of the way when he heard Jake Harris's cry. Jake's brother, Josh, was trying his hand at using the crane to stack the crab pots on the boat, and he had the thousand-pound masses of steel and rope swinging around the deck somewhat haphazardly. Jake was more experienced on the crane and hydraulics, and he ran over to the controls to take over before somebody got hurt. Josh reluctantly went back to making bait – grinding up frozen blocks of herring and slicing whole codfish. The smelliest job of all on a crab boat, making bait was usually left to the greenhorn of the ship – and on the Cornelia Marie, that was Josh. He rolled his eyes, once again shown up by his more knowledgeable younger brother.

Phil surveyed the deck from the wheelhouse. The Cornelia Marie was a house-aft boat, so the captain had a clear view of the working space on the deck. Phil liked it that way; he could keep a careful eye on all his 'hands, and especially his sons, who were the most inexperienced of the bunch. Other than Jake, Josh, and Dave, there was Freddie Maugatai, a Samoan from Hawaii. Freddie was a Bering Sea lifer, as Phil liked to say – he was raised fishing and didn't care to do anything else. Murray also worked some hours on the deck, but during the last trip, he had spent most of his time in the engine room. Phil raked a hand through his chestnut hair as he thought about all the problems they'd had last season – broken props, three busted head gaskets, freshwater pipe leaks. If that happened again this year…

_Well_, Phil reasoned with himself, _that's why he hired Dagmar. _ His operating plan for king crab this year was to keep Murray inside most of the time, nursing the Cornelia Marie's bum engine along, until Phil got the money to either totally overhaul it or put a new one in. _God, being the part owner of a boat is damned expensive_, he thought. At least with all the thoughts of his boat's operations filling his mind, he was able to distract himself from musing about Dagmar…

_Nice try, Phil. You don't know what you're going to do this season, having that girl on board. You're going to make a damn fool of yourself._ He shook his head again. He hadn't seen Dagmar since their meeting at the bar, but the previous day she and the crew had gone to the local grocery store and practically cleaned it out getting food and supplies for the trip. They'd loaded all the stuff on board while Phil was at the Dutch Harbor dry dock, trying to procure another few head gaskets for spares. Phil hadn't been too sure how the men were going to react to having a woman on board with them, but luckily they were all young enough (or unbiased enough, in Murray's case) to be open to the idea, especially when they heard they were going to be getting the occasional massage. Phil had felt a twinge when he realized that Dagmar was closer to his sons' ages than to his own. His stomach was in knots at the thought of seeing her again. He kicked back in his chair, putting one of his smooth brown leather boots up on the desk as he pulled out a cigarette and went to light it. As he looked up, Phil almost dropped the cigarette from his lips at the sight of Dagmar throwing her duffel bag over the rail and onto the deck of the Cornelia Marie. She was radiant in the clear, cold air, with her reddish hair glinting in the sun like a dark penny. He watched as Jake held out a hand to help her over the rail; she smiled and accepted, nimbly jumping aboard while carefully putting her right foot on the boat first. Phil broke out in a small smile at her tiny show of superstition. She yelled a greeting to the other guys on deck, and Phil's breath caught in his throat as Dagmar then looked directly up at him in the wheelhouse and waved cheerily. He managed to wave back, and stood up to meet her downstairs and make sure she had everything she needed. _Get it together, Phil!_ He tried to will himself into relaxing. God, he was like a damned schoolboy again.

Phil reached the galley just as Dagmar burst in the door, brandishing her small duffel in front of her like a battering ram. She stopped short when she saw Phil, breaking out into a wide grin, her cheeks rosy from the chill outside. Phil smiled openly, much to his own chagrin.

"Hey, Dagmar. How are you doing?" Phil asked lamely, not sure if he should extend his hand. Dagmar solved that problem for him, giving him a quick hug. Phil realized then just how small she was – maybe only 5'2" or 5'3". He had a quick moment of doubt about her carrying her weight on deck. Crab fishing was one of the most physically demanding jobs in the world, and usually the decks of crab boats were filled with tall and well-muscled young men.

"I'm great, Phil. Really looking forward to getting back out there again." Dagmar carefully hung up her bright orange rain gear in the dressing area between the galley and the deck and placed her worn rubber work boots underneath. Turning back to face him, she quickly said, "thanks again for the opportunity, Phil. I can't tell you how grateful I am for the chance to work on this boat."

Phil blushed and downplayed her thanks. She looked at him carefully and a moment of awkward silence passed between them. She looked like she was going to say something else, but thought better of it.

"Well, I guess I'll go help tie those pots down on the stack. Let me know what you feel like for dinner, alright?" Dagmar grinned. "Your sons insisted on practically buying out the entire store, so I can make whatever you want."

Phil shook his head, laughing. "Leave it to Ding and Dong." Confused for only a second, Dagmar paused a moment and then burst out in chuckles at Phil's nicknames for his two sons as she turned to go out on deck. Phil smiled and headed back up the stairs to the wheelhouse.

Watching his five deckhands load the boat with pots, Phil felt at home again. Having to leave so suddenly last season hadn't sat well with him; he felt like he had unfinished business with the Bering Sea. In his mind, he knew his condition had warranted treatment, but he felt slightly embarrassed that the news of his hospitalization had gone through the entire fleet like wildfire. Phil desperately wanted to prove that he was healthy enough to continue on fishing, not only to the other skippers and crews, but also to himself. Murray came up into the wheelhouse, wiping engine grease from his hands with a smudged cloth. He wordlessly looked out at the four men and one woman on deck, watching as Dagmar and Jake swung easily all over the stack, tying the pots tightly together. Dave was coaching Josh, who was once again standing at the crane controls.

"Feels good to be back, huh?"

Murray's words startled Phil, who had been deep in thought.

"Yeah. Yeah, it does."

Out on deck, Dagmar was quickly and efficiently tying down pots. She preferred not to talk when she was working on the stack, and Jake seemed to feel the same way; the odds of an accident happening increased tenfold when there were deckhands forty feet above the waterline and swinging crab pots barreling around the airspace. She thought of the 'hand that had gone overboard last year doing exactly what she and Jake were doing now; he'd hit his head on the side of the boat and gotten knocked out, and it had taken his crewmates too long to get him out of the frigid water. The poor guy was pronounced dead at the dock. Dagmar pulled her hair back tighter and retied her ponytail, trying to focus. That wasn't made any easier by Phil's eyes on the two of them from the wheelhouse, and her thoughts turned to him.

From the time Dagmar met Phil at the Elbow Room, she hadn't been able to completely shake him from her mind. Something about the older man captivated her; his ease at being a successful crab boat skipper, maybe. She couldn't ignore the warm feeling in her chest at the memory of the way he looked at her with his unusually light blue eyes; they were the same color as the cold Alaskan sky on a clear day. The lines on his face from the tension and stress of the hours in the wheelhouse almost disappeared when he laughed, making him look like a much younger man. Glancing at him as he leaned out the side window of the wheelhouse to talk to Dave, Dagmar felt an excited fluttering in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her focus as she jumped down from the stack. Landing lightly on the deck, she brushed her bare hands on her jean-clad legs – she never wore gloves on the stack so she could grip the ropes better, even if it meant the occasional rope burn.

"I guess that's everything!" Jake called out as he slid down from the stack and walked over to stand by Dagmar. He looked up to Phil in the wheelhouse and gave him a thumbs-up. Phil stuck his head out of the window again and returned the gesture.

"Let's get the hell out of here!"


	3. They never found the wreckage

A/N: Still don't own anything except my Dagmar! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate it!

* * *

"**They never found the wreckage."**

Phil was planning on taking almost two days to get out to their fishing grounds. He had spent much of the off-season at his home in Seattle, poring over charts of the ocean bottom and captain's logs from the past fifteen years, trying to decide where to set his first strings of pots. Red crab moved around the ocean floor in huge groups – tens of thousands – known as biomasses. To Phil, the first strings were crucial; if he managed to set right on top of a biomass, he could 'dial in' on the movements of the crab right away. If he set the pots on bare ocean floor, however, that made finding the crab an infinitely harder task. He rubbed his tattooed upper arm as he leaned forward to grab his cigarettes from the desk. Glancing down at the unfinished outline, Phil thought of Dagmar's tattoos. He wanted to ask her about them; he'd been thinking about getting some more work done on his own.

Dagmar was down in the galley, getting a head start on dinner preparations. She felt most at home in the kitchen, although she'd never admit that she was that domestic in front of the boys. She prided herself on her cooking; she had learned how to cook from her parents, and had kept those memories of home and holidays with her over the years. She hummed as she pulled pans and bowls from the latched cupboards. Everything took a little more time on a crab boat; all of the cabinets and drawers had to be fastened shut in case the boat took a roll out on the open water. She pulled a beef tenderloin and some sour cream from the fridge, and picked out some carrots and a white onion from one of the cabinets. Carefully selecting various spices from the rack over the counter – bay leaves, thyme, peppercorns – Dagmar began to melt some butter in a heavy dutch oven on the flattop stove. She sliced the vegetables and threw them in the iron pot, cooking them before transferring them to a plate and placing the tenderloin in the hot butter. The smell of the browning meat began to waft around the ship.

Up in the wheelhouse, Phil smelled a wonderful aroma coming up the stairs from the galley. Dagmar must have started on dinner already. Last night she'd made an amazing stew – what did she call it? – a goulash. With homemade bread… Phil's stomach growled. Murray came up to relieve him, and he decided to wander down to the galley and see what was going on. As he walked down the stairs and rounded the corner, he heard faint singing. Slowing his steps, he listened quietly.

_Dronning Dagmar ligger udi Ribe syg,_

_til Ringsted mon de hende vente._

_Alle de fruer, i Danmark er,_

_dem lader hun til sig hente._

_Udi Ringsted hviler Dronning Dagmar._

Her voice was soft and simple, and the melody sounded like a folksong. Phil walked into the galley and Dagmar looked up at him. She smiled invitingly, not embarrassed in the least to be caught singing. Phil smiled shyly back at her. She looked happier than usual, surrounded by food and cooking utensils; her cheeks were ruddy from the heat of the stove, and her hair was tightening into soft curls around her forehead. She had the sleeves of her men's flannel buttondown rolled up, and her hands were covered in the flour she was using to thicken the gravy in the dutch oven.

Phil leaned against the counter. "What were you singing? Was that in Norwegian?" With a name like Dagmar Larsen, she had to be of some sort of Scandinavian descent.

Dagmar wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. "It was Danish. Good guess though!" she replied. "Danish is actually really closely related to Norwegian. I was able to have a conversation with Sig Hansen in town the other day, even though I don't speak Norwegian and he doesn't speak Danish."

"So, were you born there?" Phil was intrigued; she didn't have an accent at all when she spoke English.

Dagmar shook her head. "I was born in Prague, in what used to be Czechoslovakia. My mother was Czech, and my father was Danish. We did end up moving to Aarhus, in Jylland, when I was a kid. That's where I started working on fishing boats, actually."

Phil thought about that for a moment.

"I thought you were probably Scandinavian of some sort with a name like Dagmar."

She laughed. "Yeah, it's kind of a giveaway. My name actually comes from Queen Dagmar of Denmark – she lived around the end of the 10th century, and she was really Czech by birth. She was something of a seer; on her deathbed, she tried to convince her husband, King Valdemar, not to remarry to the daughter of a Portuguese nobleman. She'd had a vision that their sons' fighting over the crown would bring trouble to Denmark, and he didn't listen to her. Of course, she ended up being right. My parents thought it was a perfect name for me." She pulled a cutting board onto the counter and began to slice bread dumplings into even round medallions. "The song I was singing is based on a medieval poem about her." Phil noticed a sad, wistful look in her eyes for a second. She blinked quickly and the look dissipated. He wondered what that was all about.

"Um, so why did you move to the states?" he asked carefully.

The look returned to Dagmar's eyes and her face darkened slightly. She tried to focus on her hands as they began to mash cranberries in a small bowl on the counter. She swallowed uncomfortably.

"When I was about sixteen, my family was going to take one of our yearly vacations to Finland. I couldn't go that year, because I'd finally made full-share on a cod boat and didn't want to pass up the opportunity to start straight away." She cleared her throat again. Phil had a sinking feeling in his stomach about where this story was going. "My parents and little sister were on a ship in the Baltic Sea when a storm came up. The boat they were on wasn't particularly seaworthy, I guess, and she went down in the storm with all hands and passengers. They never found the wreckage."

Phil's heart went out to her as he watched her struggle with her words. He fought off the urge to take her in his arms and let her cry on his shoulder. She blinked back tears, successfully holding them in.

"I couldn't stay in Europe after that. I'd learned English in grade school, and I managed to get a job on a cod boat in Seattle pretty quickly." She added a scoop of sugar and a small amount of gelatin to the berries and stirred with a practiced hand. "After a year, I was able to get on with a crab boat, and I've been doing that almost every year since. I had to take some time off a few years back, and that's when I went to massage school in Anchorage." She looked up at Phil, her eyes shining brightly. "So, here I am," she finished lamely, shrugging her shoulders.

Phil didn't know exactly what to say. He certainly knew about loss, especially losing a loved one to the seas, and he also knew that nothing he could say would make her feel any better.

"Well, I'm happy that you're here," he said honestly. "You're a great addition to the boat."

She laughed shortly. "You just like having somebody to cook for you!"

He grinned. "Guilty as charged."

Dagmar smiled as she took the lid off of the dutch oven and tasted the brown gravy with a spoon. She deftly added a little more salt and turned back to Phil. "Would you mind calling the guys? I think this is ready."

"Of course," Phil replied. "What are we having? I came down here in the first place because it smelled so wonderful up in the wheelhouse."

Pulling down plates and getting out silverware, she turned off the stovetop. "It's called svíčková – it's a traditional Czech stewed beef in sour cream gravy. I also made some bread dumplings and cranberry chutney to top it off. It's one of my old favorites."

"Sounds amazing," Phil said truthfully as he walked out of the galley to summon the other guys, his thoughts still on Dagmar's sad story. Everyone was in Jake and Josh's cabin, cheering as they watched a taped football game on Jake's new flatscreen TV. "Come on, guys, chow time."

They cheered again as they paused the game and barreled out the door, heading towards the galley. Phil stood back to let them pass, shaking his head and chuckling. He turned to follow, smoothing his hair back as he caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror. _You're a mess, old man,_ he thought. _You should probably just forget about any feelings you might have for that girl._

* * *

The Danish folksong translates roughly to:

"Queen Dagmar lies in Ribe sick,

in Ringsted they do expect her;

all the ladies in Denmark she lets bring to her side,

in Ringsted they lay her to rest."


	4. The Siren

**The Siren**

After dinner that night, the crew sat around the galley table comparing old crab fishing injuries. With how dangerous the job was, everyone had at least a few stories to share.

"Well, other than my crazy dad having to go to the hospital last year, I got a little sprain in my wrist, and Dave over here really screwed up his ankle," Jake commented.

Dave kicked back and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Yeah, it really pissed me off that I did that. I was just jumping off the pot launcher, like I do a thousand times a trip, and I rolled my ankle totally over. It still doesn't look the same, and that was almost a year ago."

Dagmar was curious. "Can I see it?" she asked, leaning over the table.

Dave pulled up his pant leg to show her his injured ankle. She immediately came around to get a closer look.

"Do you mind?" she asked, reaching for his ankle.

"Go for it," Dave replied. He watched, fascinated, as she gently but firmly began to probe his ankle and the side of his foot. The other crewmembers gathered around to watch.

"What did they tell you at the hospital? You tore a bunch of ligaments down here, it feels like. Did you do any PT?"

Dave shook his head. "I wanted to get back out here as fast as I could."

"Typical. As a crabber I know exactly how you feel, but as a therapist, you really shouldn't have done that. Luckily, now you have me!" she laughed. "Do you still have any pain, maybe in this area?" She pressed her fingertips lightly into the outside of his foot, just below the swollen ankle. Dave drew in a fast breath.

"Yeah, a bit. It's not so bad once I start working on it." He was trying to be cool in front of Dagmar and the crew.

"Mm hm." Dagmar was concentrating on isolating the part of his ankle that was causing the pain. "Just focus on keeping this ankle relaxed, okay?" Her fingers deftly moved across his skin. When she found the spot she was looking for, Dave's entire body tensed.

"Just focus on what I'm doing, Dave," she murmured quietly. "Turn the pain into something else."

Dagmar glanced up at his face, which was tense with pain. He ran a hand through his short blond hair and began to breathe more slowly, and Dagmar felt his body relax. She took the opportunity to stroke the injured tendon in his ankle until she felt it lie flatter against his bone. She finished with longer strokes up and down his calf using her flat palm.

"Try walking on that now," she scooted back from the table to allow him to stand.

Dave carefully pushed himself up from the bench seat and put weight on his injured foot. He tested it gingerly at first, and then began to walk around the kitchen on it. He looked up at Dagmar in amazement.

"It feels great!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe this… I've been walking around in pain for a year and all of a sudden, it's gone!"

Dagmar smiled. "Just take it easy, alright? Chances are, it's going to start hurting you again in the next couple of days, and as soon as it does, you come to me and we'll do this again. Eventually, you'll feel back to normal, although you'll have a greater chance of rolling it again in the future just because you already injured it."

Dave nodded. "Thank you so much. I really owe you for this one."

Dagmar shook her head. "Just doing my job." She stood up and began clearing the plates from dinner.

The crew and Phil had been looking between them, amazed at Dave's sudden recovery. Jake and Josh quickly moved to help her clean up.

"Would you mind looking at my arm later on?" Jake asked Dagmar eagerly. "It would be sweet to get it feeling a little stronger before we all have to go out on deck."

She chuckled as she nodded. "No problem."

Phil took a look at Dave still walking around, testing out his newly improved ankle, and quickly excused himself to go up to the wheelhouse. As he climbed the staircase, he thought about what Dagmar would find when she began working on him – he'd had more injuries crab fishing than he could remember. He was both nervous and excited at the thought of her strong hands on his skin.

After dinner was cleared, Dagmar went to her cabin and quickly dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a white knit sweater. As she brushed back her longish hair, she thought about Dave; she was relieved that she'd been able to alleviate Dave's pain so soon after examining him. She thought back on her two years of schooling, remembering her instructor's words of caution: sometimes, it took many sessions to release someone's pain. In the past, doing multiple sessions on one patient had taken its toll on Dagmar; she could feel so ineffective if the patient didn't feel any change right away, and in that way, she was easily discouraged. She never gave up, though, and she prided herself on that.

Dagmar slipped on her green parka and patted the pocket for her cigarettes. She quietly walked past Jake and Josh's door, where the crew had gone back to watching the football game, and snuck out the heavy door onto the deck of the Cornelia Marie, silently pulling it shut behind her. She was going to keep one of her personal traditions alive. Before they reached their fishing grounds, she liked to go out to the bow of the ship, gaze out at the Bering Sea beneath her, and smoke a few cigarettes. For her, it was like being reacquainted with the mighty sea, and it was also her way of making peace with the water before she started fishing. The night was cold and very dark, only broken by the strobes illuminating the deck and the water immediately in front of the boat. Dagmar walked out across the deck, maneuvering between the stacked crab pots. She turned and waved at Phil up in the wheelhouse, letting him know she was alright out there. He looked startled, but returned her gesture, as he watched her easily navigate the rolling deck. She walked up to the point at the front of the bow and pulled out two cigarettes, putting both in her mouth at once and lighting them with a small silver lighter. Breathing in the combination of tobacco smoke and wet salty air, she leaned over the side of the boat and tossed one of the cigarettes into the water – an offering to the Bering Sea. She then leaned back and took a long pull on her own smoke, relishing her time alone on the deck out in the middle of the water. She looked thoughtfully out over the waves, musing about what was to come that season – with the boat, the crew, Phil… Dagmar closed her eyes as the wind whipped around her, blowing strands of her hair free from the elastic band holding it back. She smiled serenely at the wind playing with her. She wasn't a religious woman – she hadn't been in a church since she'd lost her family – but she was spiritual, and she whispered a small prayer to the forces of nature around her. She asked the winds to blow straight and true, and the water to be gentle and constant in its path.

Phil watched Dagmar from the wheelhouse. It made him a bit nervous to see her out on deck by herself, but something kept him from calling her back in. She looked like she was doing something important, although he couldn't tell what it was. It made Phil recall why many men were superstitious about having a woman on board a crab boat; they certainly were mysterious creatures. He looked at Dagmar on the bow, slightly illuminated by the deck lights. She looked oddly familiar to him just then, and with a shock, he realized what she reminded him of. There was a painting hanging in the Elbow Room back in Dutch that depicted a mythical siren, with her bright red hair swirling around her face as she guided a boat toward its demise on the rocky shore. Dagmar's hair wasn't as red, but she made an eerily accurate representation of the siren; she did seem to be out there communicating with the dark sea, the wind whipping her hair. He shivered and tried to push the thought from his mind, although he couldn't totally shake the feeling. He was relieved when she finished her cigarette and turned to make her way back inside.


	5. I can't wait to get my hands on the rest

Thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate them - keep 'em coming!

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"**I can't wait to get my hands on the rest of you –"**

The next morning, the Cornelia Marie reached Phil's selected fishing grounds in Bristol Bay, and the men and Dagmar were up and ready to start setting pots.

"This is probably the only time on this trip that we're going to be up and ready to go before we absolutely have to be," Josh commented. Freddie nodded in agreement as he clipped his knife belt around his waist; most crabbers wore knives on deck in case a line had to be quickly cut from around someone's leg. It was all too easy to get caught 'in the bite,' as it was called: if a crab pot was being launched over the side and a rope attached to the pot got tangled around a crewman's leg, there were usually only mere seconds to get the line off. A pot could sink at rapid speed, pulling a crabber overboard with no chance of escape. Cutting the line was the fastest way, and losing a thousand-dollar pot was far better than losing a man over the side. Even if a man managed to get free once he was in the water, there was little chance of being able to rescue him from the freezing waves.

Dagmar pulled her rain pants on over her navy Cornelia Marie sweatpants and stood up to fasten the straps over her shoulders. She turned up the hood of her sweatshirt as she slid her waterproof jacket on top, snapping it all the way down. Clipping another knife belt on, she reached for the ragged baseball cap that was tucked into her work boots. Jamming it on her head, she pulled both her sweatshirt and her jacket hood up over the hat, creating a barrier from the wind. Wearing a baseball cap helped shield her face from the blustery weather and rain that would likely assault the crabbers over the next few hours. She slid her double-socked feet into her work boots, feeling somewhat like a hot, overstuffed sausage in the warmth of the dressing area; edging by Jake and Josh, she stepped out into the chilly air and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a feeling remarkably close to getting ready to play in the snow as a child – it was so hot in the house and so comfortable once you finally made it outside. The rest of the men soon followed, and Dagmar turned to Dave, who had been promoted to deck boss for this trip since Murray remained inside.

"Where do you want me first, Dave?" Dagmar asked, raising her voice to be heard over the slight wind that had picked up.

Dave looked around at the other guys, evaluating who would be most efficient at which station. "I want to start you at the rail, Dagmar. Freddie'll be on the rail too. Let's have Jake on the stack untying pots, and I'll do hydraulics for now. Josh, you're on bait of course." Dave grinned teasingly at Josh, who had to take the mockery until he lost his greenhorn status. Everyone on the boat had once been a greenhorn themselves, so they felt for Josh, even as they hounded him to be more efficient and quicker to pick up new skills. That was the traditional way people had been learning to be crabbers as long as anyone could remember, and although on some boats, greenhorns were pretty much hazed, the custom continued.

Up in the wheelhouse, Phil was intrigued to see how his new crew worked together. He still had some doubts about Dagmar being physically able to pull her weight, but only because she was such a small person, even for a girl. He was also eager to see how Josh did with a full year's crabbing experience under his belt; Murray had had good reports about Josh during the last opie season, but Phil wanted to see the progress for himself. He felt a burst of pride in his chest as he watched Jake swing up onto the stack and quickly begin untying and guiding pots down to the deck; that kid was one of the best 'hands Phil had ever had on a boat, and he loved him, even though Jake sure knew just how to push his buttons. _That damn TV… _A few minutes later, the crew was ready to launch their first pot of the season. Phil pressed the buzzer, indicating for them to let it go over, as he carefully plotted its exact position with his GPS. He turned to his logbook and made another entry by hand; he always wanted a backup system in case his computers went down for any reason.

Dagmar cheered along with the boys as they launched the first pot. She knew that from now on, it would be hours of backbreaking work until they got all of the 180 pots set, and even then, Phil might decide to track back to the beginning of his first string to see if any crab had made it into the pots. If that happened, they might only get a few minutes of sleep as they steamed between strings. The crew quickly settled into a rhythm; Jake untying pots, Dagmar and Freddie handling the pot on the launcher, Josh baiting, Dave hoisting and launching the pots. Hours passed, but the experienced crew was in it for the long haul. Dagmar paced herself like she was running a marathon; she and Freddie alternated hauling the shots of line out of the stacked pots and throwing the buoys after the pot had gone over the side.

Phil watched Dagmar carefully as she pulled a shot out of the steel frame of one of the crab pots. The shot probably weighed a good eighty pounds, coiled in a huge spiral, and although she couldn't have weighed more than 115 pounds herself, Dagmar knew exactly how to handle her weight to pull the line out with a good amount of momentum. Phil continued to watch as over the period of about ninety seconds, his crew had the pot on the launcher, baited, tied closed, and launched, with Dagmar hoisting the coiled shots over the side and Freddie tossing the trailer buoys after it. He shook his head in disbelief at their speed while still minding their safety on board; arguably, the most dangerous place on a crab boat was at the rail, where it was too easy to get tangled in the line, but Dagmar and Freddie were very mindful of each other. They both dragged their feet across the deck, never lifting them up when there was a line lying on the ground; all crab fishers knew that if you were working the rail and you took your foot off the ground, you might as well consider yourself airborne. The pot would haul you over the side so fast you wouldn't have time to react.

The crew labored on into the next morning until all of the Cornelia Marie's pots were set in the water. They were beginning to tire, and Phil decided to let them rest a few hours while he turned back to check on the first pots. They staggered back inside, trailing rain gear and work gloves as they went.

Dagmar smiled to herself. She was physically tired, but mentally she was alert, and invigorated from the hard work in the cold air and sea spray. The men all stumbled to their bunks, but she held back as she took off all of her gear. Murray came into the dressing area as she stepped out of her bright orange pants and hung them up.

"Nice work out there," he said gruffly, a look of approval on his face. "I think you impressed a lot of guys today. I know Phil's happy with you being out on deck."

"Oh? Did he have any doubts?" Dagmar teased. She knew most male crabbers assumed she wouldn't be able to keep up with men on deck. What most men didn't realize, though, was that what women lacked in brute strength, they made up in stamina.

Murray looked a bit shamefaced. "Well, you know… you are –"

"A chick?" she supplied, amused. "Don't worry, dudes always think that way at first. How's the skipper doing up there so far?"

"That's what I came down here for - I was going to bring him something from the galley," Murray answered. "I don't want him to burn his stomach lining off with all the Red Bull and cigarettes he's been going through."

Dagmar grimaced at the mention of Red Bull. Lots of crabbers drank it to get some quick energy, but she couldn't stand the taste. "I'll run something up to him, Murray, don't worry about it." She secretly liked the idea of spending a little private time with the skipper, but didn't want to make it too obvious to the crew – yet, anyways.

Murray raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure? You just worked on deck all night," he cautioned.

Dagmar shrugged his words off. "No big deal. My mind's still racing anyways."

"Suit yourself." Murray turned to go into the cabin he and Dagmar were sharing.

"Hey, Murray?"

He turned back. "Yeah?"

Dagmar shuffled her feet. "Thanks for saying what you did. About my work, I mean. I really appreciate it."

Murray smiled. "Just telling the truth." He went into their cabin and closed the door behind him.

Dagmar smiled as she pulled off her damp sweatshirt. She had a thin white camisole on underneath, and even though it was fairly cool in the galley, she was comfortable after her hours of hard work. In bare feet, she padded to the fridge to find something to take up to Phil. On second thought, she decided to take along something for herself as well.

When Phil heard footsteps coming up the stairs to the wheelhouse, he turned, expecting to see Murray.

"Hey man, I was just thinking about where to go next if – " he stopped short when he saw that it was Dagmar. She was carefully carrying two plates of steaming food in front of her. She smiled when he stood up to help her with them.

"Thanks," she said gratefully. "Murray told me you could use some real food up here, instead of all that Red Bull." She looked pointedly around at the mass of cans already surrounding his chair. Phil looked sheepish and quickly changed the subject.

"This looks great," he commented, looking down at what she'd prepared.

"Hot svíčková open-faced sandwich," she indicated. "I've been thinking about this for about six hours now." She eagerly dug into her sandwich with a fork.

Phil smiled at her unrestrained enjoyment of the food in front of her. _I am definitely not used to women acting this way_, he thought as he picked up his own fork. Girls he knew were always overly concerned with what they ate and how they acted in front of men. Dagmar was more like one of the guys. Interestingly, Phil noted that this didn't bother him in the slightest.

"Oh, man." Phil had felt the first bite of food go all the way down his throat to soothe his angry, growling stomach. "This is so good."

Dagmar nodded at him with a huge smile on her face, chewing on a big piece of bread and gravy. She looked so happy he had to laugh.

"So, you really know how to throw your weight around down there," he commented. Dagmar looked even tinier sitting in the wheelhouse in only a small white top and her sweatpants with the picture of the Cornelia Marie on them. The muscles in her arms were taut with overuse, and they tiredly rippled under her tattooed skin. She put her bare feet up on the console, and Phil had to stifle a grin as he noted that her toenails were painted a bright pink. He never would have guessed she'd be that girly.

Dagmar nodded at his compliment as she swallowed. "I had to learn fast. When I started fishing cod in the Baltic Sea, they wouldn't let me do anything but bait for the longest time." She speared another piece of meat with her fork. "I got so sick of it and finally begged them to put me on the rail for one string. I had so much adrenaline going through me that day I was able to make it happen, and they never doubted me after that first time. It's easier some days than others." Phil acknowledged her answer as he chewed thoughtfully.

"So, how was your day… night… up here?" she asked, pouring a cup of coffee from the electric pot Phil kept up in the wheelhouse. She gestured to his empty cup, and he passed it to her to fill, thanking her as she returned it. She sat back, taking a sip of coffee from her favorite mug. She'd found it in the galley the day before and decided to claim it because it had a picture of an albatross on it, and she found that amusing.

"Oh, it was good. Stressful, but good." Phil's voice sounded tired and scratchy. "I'm always in agony over where to set first, you know?" He leaned back in his captain's chair and stretched, putting his hands behind his head.

"I can imagine." Dagmar set her empty plate on the console to her side. "How are you feeling, physically I mean?" She was trying not to be too motherly; she could tell Phil liked to take care of himself and she didn't want to ruffle his feathers.

He thought for a moment. "You know, I feel about normal for this time of the season. I've got a lot of tension all over, I think, just from the stress of thinking about fishing all the time. Nothing out of the ordinary." He raised his coffee cup to his lips.

Dagmar looked sideways at him. "Do you mind if I try something?"

He looked at her, his blue eyes telling her that he was interested but somewhat wary. "Okay."

Dagmar put her coffee down and padded across the wheelhouse to stand behind Phil's chair. She took his cup from his hands and placed it on the dash next to him, away from the computers and other equipment. He felt a little jumpy to be so close to her; he could smell a faint scent of leather mixed with peppermint as she placed her hands on his shoulders – an odd combination, but surprisingly pleasing to his senses. Dagmar gently but firmly began to give him a simple upper back massage, rubbing tension out of his neck and shoulders. There were many layers of muscle in the human body, and often the most debilitating pain came from clenched muscles that were two or three layers below the surface of the skin.

"Just relax a bit more, that's exactly it. Don't forget to breathe." She frowned as she worked on a section of muscle and vertebrae at the base of his neck. "You have a lot of tension here, Phil. Do you sit with your head cocked slightly to the side when you're up here?"

"I'm not sure." He thought about it for a second. "I guess I do kind of twist to the right a bit. I like to be able to see the guys when they're at the launcher."

Dagmar nodded as she pressed more insistently at the tight muscle. "I'm going to try something, Phil. Just try to totally relax your neck and back, and I'm going to have you take some breaths." She had felt that one of his vertebrae was slightly out of alignment with the rest of his spine, and she was going to adjust it. She had found that people who were unfamiliar with a chiropractor or massage therapist often tightened up when they knew what was coming, so she decided against telling him – this time, at least. She smoothed his hair soothingly as she lined up her fingers to make the adjustment.

"Okay, Phil, I need you to take a big breath slowly… good, and let it out quickly." He obeyed her instructions. "And once more… alright… and now one last time –"

As Phil breathed in, Dagmar moved both hands to get the most leverage, and as he let the breath out, she firmly pulled the bones back in place. Phil gasped and abruptly turned to look at her with wide eyes. She couldn't help smiling apologetically at him as she rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. I knew if I told you, you'd tense up and it wouldn't be as effective. Your neck was misaligned."

He put one hand on the back of his neck, brushing her hand softly. "It does feel a lot better now." He turned his head slowly from side to side.

"I promise to tell you next time, okay? Forgive me for surprising you." Dagmar's hand still lingered at the back of his head. She suppressed the urge to run her fingers through his shaggy brown hair with abandon; it was so soft as it brushed the back of her hand.

He smiled, pouting only a little bit in jest. "Alright, I forgive you. But only this once!" he joked.

Dagmar laughed. "Seriously, though – you are a ball of tension. I can't wait to get my hands on the rest of you –" She stopped short as they both noticed her Freudian slip. "Because, um, you really need it." She just kept digging herself into a hole. _Damn it, Dagmar! Just shut up!_ She mentally kicked herself.

Phil couldn't keep from breaking out into a giddy smile at her thinly veiled squirming. "Oh, don't worry Dagmar, I'll definitely be looking forward to that too," he laughed, teasing her even more. _You know you aren't joking at all, you old dog, _he thought to himself, taking pleasure in how red Dagmar's cheeks were getting.

She quickly picked up their plates to take them back downstairs to the sink. _Way to go, idiot!_ _Nothing like letting your mouth go off all over the place! _As she made her way down the stairs, Phil called to her.

"Hey Dagmar? Thanks a lot for everything, really."

She was trying to make a fast exit and he was cramping her progress. "Oh, no problem, Phil!" she quickly called as she practically ran down the stairs in embarrassment. Dropping the plates and silverware in the sink, she pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. Now that she was out of his sight, she realized how comical that must have been and snorted quietly to herself. _Good lord, girl. This is going to be one hell of a trip, that's for sure._


	6. Not tryin’ to have bad luck this trip

"**Not tryin' to have bad luck this trip, yeah?"**

After a few hours of restless sleep, Dagmar decided to get up and make breakfast for the crew before they had to go out and pull some pots. She lightly jumped down from the top bunk, trying not to wake Murray, who was knocked out, fast asleep in his sleeping bag on the bottom bunk. She smiled at how comical his tall frame looked stretched out on such a small bed. Searching through the jumble of clothes that already littered the floor, she found her soft sheepskin loafers and slipped her feet into them. Pulling on a fleece sweatshirt, she opened the cabin door and went into the hall, trying not to make any noise as she closed it behind her.

She shuffled tiredly through the living room and into the galley, pulling a flat skillet from underneath the stove and placing it on top. Opening the fridge door, she evaluated the breakfast options, settling on hot egg, cheese, and bacon sandwiches. She got out the carton of eggs and a brick of yellow cheese, throwing them on the counter, and decided on Canadian bacon instead of regular. Remembering the box of croissants Jake had insisted on getting in Dutch, she lugged them out of the cabinet and began to slice them in halves, putting two in the toaster at once until they were all lightly browned. Meanwhile, she sliced the cheese into generous pieces with a hot knife and turned on the heat under the skillet. Quickly cooking the round circles of bacon and putting them on a plate to rest, she began pulling eggs out of the carton on the counter. Cracking five eggs in short succession onto the hot surface, she sprinkled salt, pepper, and a little paprika onto their sunny yellow yolks. Cooking them over easy – just a little runny – she assembled the sandwiches and turned the skillet heat down. She placed the sandwiches on the skillet in batches and covered them with a pot lid to warm them and melt the cheese. After she put the last batch on, she went to start waking up the guys.

Dagmar shuffled down the hallway, turning on the light before cracking the door to Jake and Josh's cabin. She figured they'd take the longest time to get up, so she decided to wake them first. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she struggled to keep from laughing at the sight of Jake's lanky form sprawled out on the top bunk; he was sleeping on his stomach, with one of his long legs hanging over the side of his bunk and into the middle of the room. She gently rubbed his arm.

"Jake? Time to get up, hun." He groaned and lifted his head off of his pillow to see who was disturbing him. Dagmar's big eyes stared innocently back at him, and a big smile crossed her face when he looked sleepily at her. Jake caught sight of himself in the mirror on the opposite wall, his black hair standing up in all directions and his cheek creased from being smashed up against his pillow. He tried to flatten his unruly hair as he rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows, attempting to keep from going back to sleep. Satisfied, Dagmar knelt next to Josh on the bottom bunk.

"Josh? I made breakfast. Time to get up, dude." Josh sat up, rubbing his eyes and reaching wearily for his socks.

"Alright, alright. This is definitely better than an alarm clock," he muttered good-naturedly.

Smiling, Dagmar went next door to Freddie and Dave's room. "Hey guys? Time to get started." Freddie sat up right away, used to quickly rising on few hours of sleep. Dave was on his side in the bottom bunk, his blond hair mussed from his pillow. Dagmar gently smoothed his hair and squeezed his arm, and he turned to peer suspiciously at her. Seeing who it was, he relaxed and gave her a tired smile.

"Good morning," he croaked with his early morning voice. She returned his greeting as she straightened her legs to stand. He grabbed her hand tiredly and pulled her back down, saying, "hey Dagmar, my ankle still feels good. This is awesome."

She grinned. "I'm so glad."

Leaving Dave and Freddie, she went back into her own cabin to wake Murray. Him being the most experienced of all the fishermen, she knew he'd be the easiest to wake up. She knelt next to him, and before she could say anything, Murray rolled over and opened his eyes slowly.

"That time already, huh?" He yawned and stretched out as much as he could in the small bed.

Dagmar nodded apologetically. "I made breakfast, though," she offered.

Murray smiled. "I can't wait."

She left him to wake up and get dressed. Returning to the galley, she passed Dave in the hallway; he was shuffling around like a zombie, trying to find his cigarettes. She pulled the last batch of breakfast sandwiches off of the skillet and put them all on a serving plate, saving two to take up to Phil in the wheelhouse. The guys began to stumble into the kitchen in various states of dress, pouring themselves coffee from the steaming pot and sitting heavily down at the galley table. Jake was last, coming in wearing a heavy sweater with only his boxer shorts on bottom. Even Freddie gave him a look as he fell into a chair, sipping his black coffee. Dagmar put the big plate of sandwiches in the middle of the table, taking the smaller plate to run up to Phil. On second thought, she added another sandwich for herself.

Taking the stairs two at a time in her comfortable slippers, Dagmar pushed down the fluttering feeling that was threatening to rise into her throat. _I'm sure he forgot all about what I said a few hours ago. _She took a deep breath. _Oh, who are you trying to kid?! _As she came up into the wheelhouse, she slowed her pace. Phil turned in his big chair to see who it was.

"Oh, hey Dagmar. Good morning." Phil was trying to be nonchalant, but he couldn't suppress the warm feeling in his chest at the sight of Dagmar, still shaking off sleep, coming into his wheelhouse bearing food. She was gorgeous in her oversized, dark grey fleece sweatshirt, tight black leggings, and sheepskin loafers. Her thick auburn hair was wispy and disheveled around her face, which still carried the dewy glow of sleep. She carried the plate of sandwiches over to him, smiling with tired eyes as she shook back her hair and took one of the sandwiches for herself.

"Hey Phil. How're you doing?" Dagmar was also trying to be offhandedly casual, praying inside that Phil wasn't thinking about their previous conversation. She leaned back against the table of old maps next to his chair and took a bite of her croissant. The salty bacon and cheese blended together with the buttery, flaky pastry in her mouth, and she closed her eyes briefly, thoroughly enjoying the strong taste. Phil had already started on his first sandwich as well, and he nodded approvingly as he swallowed a large bite.

"I'm doing a lot better now that I'm eating this great breakfast." He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. He could really get used to this; having Dagmar around all the time, eating and talking together. Phil hadn't felt like this about a woman in a long time, probably since before he'd married Jake and Josh's mom years ago. Hell, he was still a kid then, and he didn't know what he was thinking or doing. He'd dated women in the many years since his divorce, but none of them understood what it was like to be a crab fisherman; those short-lived relationships had always ended quickly once he'd returned to the sea. Dagmar, on the other hand, truly understood because she lived it. She had fishing in her blood. Seeing her like this – in the late morning sun streaming through the wheelhouse windows, with her beautiful coppery hair tousled from sleep – just made him want to take her in his arms and hold onto her forever. Dagmar looked over at him just then and smiled a small, tired smile; even her vibrant blue eyes, still slightly clouded from sleep, seemed to beam at him. At that exact moment, Phil knew that he loved her.

Dagmar looked thoughtfully at Phil; he seemed to have something on his mind. She only hoped he wasn't about to tease her about what she had said earlier. Popping the last bite of croissant into her mouth, she brushed her hands against her legs.

"Well, I guess I'd better get back down there. The guys are probably getting ready to go out on deck," she said softly. Phil's clear blue eyes trained on her were making her uneasy; she couldn't place the emotion brimming behind them. Self-consciously, Dagmar smoothed back her hair, pulling it over one shoulder as she turned to go back downstairs. Phil opened his mouth, not sure what he was about to say, but wanting her to know how he felt about her. She quickly disappeared before he could form any words, and he sat back in his captain's chair with a sigh. _It's probably a good thing she made such a fast exit, before you had time to say something you'd regret later,_ Phil thought, pulling a cigarette out of its box, placing it between his lips and deftly lighting it. He tried to focus on getting the Cornelia Marie over to the first pots quickly, but he still couldn't suppress that warm feeling in his chest.

The late morning sun shone down on the crew as they stood on the deck, ready to start pulling pots. Josh was standing at the bins, grinding more bait in case they needed to reset the pots quickly – if Phil had set on the crab, and the Cornelia Marie started pulling full pots, he'd surely decide to just reset each pot. If that happened, Josh would need to have the bait ready to go right away. Dagmar, pulling on her blue rubber work gloves, stepped over to help him. She grabbed a sharp knife and began to slice fresh cod for hanging bait, stringing them through their gills on a series of metal hooks. Josh nodded his thanks for her help; the other guys usually tortured him by making him do bait by himself, but apparently Dagmar was taking pity on him. Once he'd ground an ample amount of herring, he stepped over to the other side of the bin and began to fill smaller bait boxes with the oily fish. Josh tried to breathe out of his mouth; he didn't think he'd ever get used to the smell of the slightly ripe ground fish. The two of them worked quickly, and soon had thirty bait set-ups assembled. Stepping back from the bait bins, they both breathed in deeply, trying to get the fish smell out of their nostrils. Dagmar caught Josh's eye and they both grinned at each other.

Meanwhile, Jake was standing at the rail, holding the hook as he searched the sparkling water for the telltale orange buoy attached to the first crab pot. Dave tested the launcher hydraulics, making sure everything was in order. Suddenly, there was a shout from Freddie, who was hanging over the side of the boat, also looking for the next pot. Dagmar turned to see him pointing at something in the water up ahead. Jake got ready with the hook as he saw the orange buoy floating on the gentle waves.

"You betta not miss, man!" Freddie taunted the young deckhand. "Not tryin' to have bad luck this trip, yeah?"

"Shut up, dude!" Jake replied, as he leaned over the side, concentrating. He really didn't want to miss before, and especially not now that Freddie called him out on it. As the buoy came along the side of the boat, Jake threw the hook. It caught on the line and he began to quickly pull it in, hand over hand. Throwing the line in the block, he moved to the coiler to guide the rope as it spiraled around the metal collection bucket. Freddie and Dagmar both leaned over the side to see if they'd caught anything. The block began to strain a bit with the effort of pulling the pot up through the black water, and Freddie turned to look at Dagmar excitedly. The block straining was a good sign, because it probably meant that the pot was heavy with crab. The water began to froth and turn white as the pot breached the water. Freddie caught a glimpse of the pot first, and he gave a yell of excitement at the sight. Phil had seen it right away too, up in the wheelhouse, and a big grin appeared on his tired face. The pot was filled to the brim with crab, glistening shiny red and white, their legs waving and claws snapping. The crew all cheered and high-fived each other as Jake fixed the pot on the picking hook and Dave raised it above the launcher. Lowering the pot to lie flat, Jake and Freddie untied the door. Red king crab spilled out over the sorting table, and Dave raised the pot again to get every last crab out. Phil couldn't wipe the smile off of his face as he got on the loudhailer.

"Alright, guys, I think we're going to set that one back." Phil watched as Josh ran to get another bait setup as the others began to sort the huge crab into large white tubs. The crew quickly reassembled the pot, launched it at Phil's buzzer, and returned to the sorting. Dagmar carefully picked up each crab to measure it, making sure she avoided the powerful front claws that could easily take a finger off. The experienced crew made short work of the sort; they quickly conferred about their numbers and grinned at the final tally of the first pot. Phil leaned forward in his seat as Dagmar stepped back to give him the count. Keeping her blue-gloved fingers against her orange raingear, she held up eight fingers, and then three.

"Eighty-three?!" Phil couldn't believe it. Dagmar beamed excitedly as she nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. Phil sat back in his chair and picked up a pencil to note the count in his logbook. After the crappy season they'd had last year, he hadn't expected to set right on the crab on his first string. He shook his head in amazement. _Maybe having a woman on a crab boat isn't unlucky after all_.


	7. “I got stuck in the bite…”

Thanks to everyone for all the great reviews - they really keep me going! Sorry for the long delay between updates; work got a little crazy for awhile, but things have calmed down recently. Alright - on with the story!

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"**I got stuck in the bite…"**

The crew worked on into the night, simultaneously pulling and resetting pots. Phil had put most of his pots in the first string, and after pulling such good numbers, he decided to set a few more in the same area. He felt good about the numbers he was seeing here; in his first string, they'd caught eighty-seven crabs, average, per pot. Phil was trying not to get too excited; he had seen how crab would move out of an area practically overnight, and if a captain couldn't follow them, he'd be right back to pulling blanks and baitfish. For now, though, he was satisfied. He yawned deeply, rubbing his eyes. _Man, I could really use some sleep_.

"Alright guys, let's pack it up for a couple hours and get some sleep before we do the other string. I want to get a lot of soak time on the ones we just set." Phil sat back in his chair and hung up the speaker as Murray came up the stairs into the wheelhouse. Taking the other seat, Murray kicked back and took a sip from his coffee cup.

"Lookin' pretty good, huh, Phil?"

"Sure is, Murray, sure is. I don't want to get too worked up here, but I have to say, I'm pretty pleased." Phil stood up and stretched his arms above his head, yawning again. He twisted to the side a bit, trying to work out a tight muscle, when he felt a twinge in his back. Before he could react, the twinge turned into a searing pain and he doubled over, gripping his back with one hand. Murray hurriedly put his coffee cup down, sloshing coffee on the counter, as he ran over to Phil's side. Phil gasped as the pain washed over him again like a wave.

"Phil? What happened?" Murray gently placed a supporting hand on Phil's arm.

"God, I don't know," Phil croaked out. His face was contorted with pain. "This feels like that old back injury I got years ago, but it hasn't ever acted up this bad." He drew in a sharp breath. "It feels like I got stabbed or something."

Murray glanced down at the deck. Seeing Dagmar coiling up some extra hook line, he grabbed the speaker off the wall and spoke into it.

"Dagmar?" She looked up at the wheelhouse, surprised at Murray's voice instead of Phil's. Murray tried to use a calm tone so he wouldn't alarm the other deckhands. "Can you come up to the wheelhouse please?" Dagmar must have sensed the urgency in his voice, because she immediately put the line down in an empty crate. Murray watched her hustle across the deck to the door downstairs. She bounded up into the wheelhouse only a moment later, having quickly shed her boots and raingear. When she saw Phil bent over and Murray supporting him, she hastily crossed the distance between them and knelt next to Phil, placing a hand on his side.

"Phil? What happened?" Dagmar asked gently. She didn't want to worry him, but he looked like he was in a lot of pain. He took in a short, ragged breath.

"I was just stretching and I messed up my back. I broke it years ago, and –" Phil stopped abruptly as another sharp pain racked his body. Without thinking, Dagmar gently placed a cool hand along the side of his face, his short whiskers brushing her palm, as she tried to assess what was going on. At her soft touch, Phil glanced up into her concerned face, and from the way his eyes were shining dangerously, Dagmar knew he was seriously hurt. She instinctively pressed her forehead to his, drawing his focus to her and away from the pain in his back. She tried to keep her breathing calm and even as she reached around Phil, sliding her hand up under his long-sleeved t-shirt. She ran her practiced hand down his spine, searching for the offending bone or muscle. Feeling a long surgical scar down the middle of his back, she slowed down. It was a good seven inches long, straight down the center of his back.

"Is this where you're hurting?" Dagmar asked softly, her lips close to Phil's ear. The silky brown and grey hairs at his temple tickled her cheek as she lightly ran her fingers over his scar.

"Yeah, it feels like I slipped something. I don't know what the deal is," he said quietly, trying not to move. Dagmar murmured acknowledgement in his ear as she continued to probe his injury. She brought her other hand up to his neck, tenderly stroking his hair, and he leaned slightly on her, laying his head against her shoulder. He could smell the familiar scent of leather and peppermint again, and it soothed him.

Murray had quietly stepped back to let Dagmar move closer to Phil, and he felt like he should leave, as if he were intruding on something deeply personal for the two of them. He didn't want to leave Dagmar if she needed any help moving Phil, though, and Murray also needed to make sure his old friend was alright. He cleared his throat and Dagmar looked up at him. She nodded and gently brushed Phil's hair back with her fingers.

"Do you think you can get down the stairs to your stateroom?" she asked. "Murray and I'll help you." Phil took in a deep breath and nodded. Murray moved to his side to help him stand up.

"Slowly, now. No sudden motions." Dagmar and Murray gently but firmly helped Phil unfold himself from the floor. Dagmar stole a glance at Phil's pained face; she could tell that he was trying not to cry out as his back straightened against its will. Murray guided Phil toward the stairs as Dagmar clambered down ahead of them and opened the door to Phil's stateroom, which was just to the right of the stairs. She reached up to grab Phil's hand as he took the stairs one at a time with Murray's help. When he'd reached the bottom, it was only a few steps to the door of his cabin. He began to double over again, but forced himself to stay standing as Dagmar and Murray led him inside. Dagmar nodded to Murray, indicating that she could take it from here. As Murray closed the stateroom door behind him, Dagmar knelt in front of Phil again. With alarm, she noted that his eyes were glassy and full of pain. Still supporting him, she helped him sit on the edge of the bed.

"Phil, I need to take your shirt off, okay? Can you put your arms up a bit?" Phil obeyed, raising his arms to allow Dagmar to gently pull his t-shirt over his head. She tossed it aside, placing her arm around his bare back.

"I'm just going to have you lie down on your side, okay? Facing the wall." Without answering, Phil began to lower himself down on the bed. Dagmar quickly moved to help him, arranging the pillow under his head. His demeanor worried her; although she hadn't known him very long, she could tell that this was serious. She knew he was a tough old sea dog, and most of the guys who'd fished for any length of time wouldn't let anyone know they were in pain unless it was pretty severe. Dagmar leaned down to whisper in his ear as she moved her hands over his smooth back.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I'm going to make this better." Phil's breathing grew more relaxed at her words.

"I know," he replied, his voice gravelly. He sighed imperceptibly at her soft touch, at her cool hands on his hot skin.

As she ran her fingertips over the scar, Dagmar couldn't help but notice how well-muscled Phil's back and arms were. He hadn't worked on deck in a long time, but the years he'd been out there hauling pots had stayed with him, and his body looked much younger than it was. Suddenly, she felt a spot on his back that was very hot to the touch; the muscle next to one of his vertebrae was constricted and tight. She lightly began to work on the clenched muscle, encouraging it to relax so she could figure out what the problem was with Phil's spine.

"What happened to you – why'd you have to have this surgery?" Dagmar asked, trying to keep Phil's mind off of the throbbing in his back. She could actually feel the blood pulsing angrily under her fingers.

"I got stuck in the bite between two pots when I was long-lining on a boat below the chain," Phil replied haltingly, trying to breathe normally as Dagmar worked at his back. "Ended up getting hit by a pot and trapped between two others. The other guys had to cut the long-line to get me out of there, and by that time, my back was so screwed up the skipper insisted on driving straight to Anchorage to take me to the hospital. The docs didn't think I was going to walk again, but they managed to mostly put me back together." Dagmar nodded. Long-lining involved dropping a series of pots that were all connected by a single line; lots of guys fished that way for brown king crab in the shallower waters below the Aleutian island chain. It was possibly even more dangerous than fishing with single pots, because when the long-lined pots were pulled off of the boat and into the water, it was extremely easy to get caught in the bite, even for an experienced fisherman.

"Feels like you crushed a vertebra here?" Dagmar gently rubbed the offending knob of bone that stuck out farther than the others. Phil nodded. Dagmar continued to move down his back, taking note of the various scrapes and scars that covered his body. She found herself wanting to know about each one; wanting to know more about this interesting man. She was so close to giving herself to him, telling him about the feelings she had for him, but something held her back. Instead she tried to focus on identifying the source of his pain, determining if it was skeletal as well as muscular. Exploring the area around the scar, she went back to the injured muscle; with only a bit more investigation, she realized that the muscle was putting strain on the bones of his spine, threatening to pull them out of alignment. Ordinarily, such a tight muscle would only cause some discomfort, but because Phil had injured his back in that area in the past, the muscle was affecting an already weak spot. Using both hands, Dagmar began to concentrate on getting the muscle to relax as it contracted under her touch.

"Can you pull your legs into your chest a bit more? Just slightly, now." Dagmar guided Phil's legs in towards his chest until he was in a relaxed fetal position. "I'm almost there." With his back a little more stretched out, she had much better access to the offending muscle. With a final stroke, she felt the muscle unwind and loosen; they both breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh my God." Phil didn't want to move, although the pain had subsided immensely. He continued hugging his knees to his chest, his body now relaxed and calm.

"You don't have to move, because I'm not letting you get up for at least a few hours," Dagmar smiled, using her matronly voice. "I'm going to go and grab a heating pad and some water."

She returned quickly, carrying the rectangular electric blanket and a large cup of water from the galley. She held the water for Phil to take a drink, and helped rearrange his pillow under his neck as he lay back down. Plugging in the cord, she draped the blanket over his side and tucked it in around his sore back. Phil turned his head to look back at her over his shoulder.

"Now I really feel like a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest," he said, his voice gravelly. Dagmar laughed as she rubbed his arm.

"You're going to be just fine." She looked down at him, and suddenly she was glad that he was facing away from her and he couldn't see her face. She gulped silently, trying to keep the tears brimming in her eyes from spilling over. _God, Dagmar, what is your deal right now? _ She wasn't used to feeling this emotional; all she wanted to do was lie down next to Phil and wrap her arms around him, to feel his warmth next to her. Not being able to do that was killing her - she had to get away. Standing up quickly, she stumbled back from the bed. Phil turned to look at her again, quizzically. Dagmar couldn't meet his eyes.

"I'll – I'll come back later to check on you," she choked out, trying not to let him see how upset she was. Stealing one last glance at him, she stumbled out of the room, brushing the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Heading straight to the bathroom, she quietly closed the door behind her, sitting on the closed toilet and cradling her face in her hands.

It had frightened her to see Phil hurt so badly, but there was something more to it than that; she'd had countless patients come to her with severe pain. With Phil it was different – Dagmar's heart ached for him, and it scared her; she hadn't felt this way about anyone in a long time. Lifting her head, she stared up at her splotchy, tear-streaked face in the mirror; her hair stood up in all directions, and her eyelashes were stuck together, forming little salty stars. She shook her head at her reflection, smirking a little at how pathetic she looked. Standing up, she leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on her hot cheeks. Patting her skin dry, Dagmar looked in the mirror again. _Why are you so scared of these feelings? _She narrowed her eyes, staring piercingly at herself. _Do you love him? _Sighing deeply, Dagmar began to suspect that the answer to that question was yes.


	8. “You should tell her how you feel”

Another new chapter up - I'm just posting as I'm writing them! I noticed that a lot of people are reading this story, but very few are reviewing... I'd really appreciate it if you would! And as always, thanks to those of you who do read and review; it's good to know people are liking the story. Onward!

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"**You should tell her how you feel."**

Phil opened his eyes slowly as sunlight streamed through the porthole window and into his stateroom. Gingerly reaching an arm around to his injured back, he rubbed at the sore muscle. Yawning, he carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed and put his feet on the floor. The room began to spin and darken a bit, and Phil quickly closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands, trying to avoid passing out. He massaged his eyes and forehead with his fingertips, looking up as the door creaked slowly open. Dagmar stuck her head in, immediately getting a concerned expression on her face at the sight of Phil sitting up in bed. She wordlessly moved to his side, sitting next to him on the edge of the mattress and placing an arm around his back for support. Phil snuck a sidelong glance at Dagmar; she looked exhausted. There were prominent dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was mussed from tossing and turning on her pillow during her few hours of sleep. His heart went out to her, and before he could think about it, he reached up to gently stroke her coppery hair, smoothing the angry strands. She looked up into his blue eyes, surprised at the familiar way he was caressing her. Phil quickly dropped his hand back into his lap, and in that second, Dagmar longed to feel his touch again. She swallowed, clearing her throat as she ran her practiced hand over Phil's sore back.

"The swelling is going down," Dagmar noted with relief. "It's still a little hot, but we can alternate between icing and heating the muscle, and it should be back to normal soon." She was still reeling from her realization the night before - that she was falling in love with Phil - and she was trying not to show her feelings outright. The way he was looking at her wasn't helping matters; Dagmar felt like he could see right through her with his icy blue gaze, like he could tell that she had barely gotten any sleep because she'd been thinking about him. She took her hand from Phil's back and pushed up the sleeves of her navy thermal shirt, absentmindedly pulling her tangled hair over one shoulder.

"It feels much better already," he said, his voice gruff from sleep and strain. Phil wanted so much to take her in his arms and run his hands over her smooth skin; to kiss her tired eyes and bury his face in her thick hair. They sat so close to each other on the bed, it would be so easy… _No, Phil. She doesn't feel that way about you. She's just doing her job; she's getting paid to take care of you. _Swallowing hard, he restrained himself, ignoring every fiber of his being that wanted to envelop Dagmar in his strong arms. He looked down at her graceful arms emerging from the rolled-up sleeves of her thermal top; the deep cobalt of the material made her tan skin glisten, made her blue eyes look like the rolling ocean. Phil couldn't help himself; he reached out to run a rough finger lightly over the tattoos on her left forearm.

"Where did you get these?" he asked gently. "They're beautifully done."

Dagmar looked down at her arm, running her palm over the colored skin. There was a noble golden eagle, its ruffled feathers glinting with brilliant yellows and browns; a scene with a three-masted ship sailing through a furious tempest; a deep green banyan tree with flowing roots and foliage. A herd of horses ran up her shoulder, their muscles flexing under chestnut, grey, black, and bay coats as they kicked up a cloud of dust in their wake. She smiled.

"I've gotten them done all over really," Dagmar began, trying to recall the different tattoo shops and people she'd met. "The sleeve I had done in Denmark and Germany, when I first started working on boats. I thought it would give me some legitimacy with the guys I worked with!" she laughed out loud. "I suppose it did, actually. And I always loved the art form." She thought a moment. "There's something very spiritual about being a living canvas, a kind of conduit for art. It's so permanent and yet short-lived, you know? We're all going to die someday." Phil nodded slightly, silently inviting her to continue. Dagmar looked at him closely, and Phil noted how intense her gaze was; the sleepiness was gone from her body and her shining blue eyes were very alert.

"The only tattoo I've gotten in the states is my back piece," she said thoughtfully. "I haven't really shown it to anyone because it's kind of personal, but you already know about what happened to my family." Phil nodded again. Dagmar noticed how his eyes softened as he looked at her, and she knew that she could trust him. She shifted slightly away from him and reached over her head to pull up her thermal shirt in the back.

Phil gasped at the vibrant colors blossoming over Dagmar's pale back; reds and oranges, pinks, golds, and yellows erupted across the canvas of her skin. A proud bird, painted in countless shades of vermillion and scarlet, rose out of a bath of flames, its wings unfurling as it was reborn of the raging fire and ash. A single tear glistened on the bird's face, just above its powerful beak.

"A phoenix." Phil was in awe of the intricacy of the work, and at the powerful meaning behind it. The legendary phoenix died in flames and was reborn out of the ashes; its tears had healing properties. Dagmar nodded, trying to find the right words to explain. She breathed deeply, feeling her ribcage expand, focusing on being alive and in the moment.

"After the accident - after I lost my family, I mean - I was totally wrecked." Dagmar turned back to face Phil, letting her shirt fall loosely over her smooth back. She laced her fingers together in her lap, rubbing her slightly swollen knuckles. "In my mind, the phoenix was for my family in that it symbolizes their physical death and spiritual rebirth. It was also for me as a person; I feel like I was completely broken down and I had to build myself back up again after they died." Phil couldn't find the words to say anything. He reached into her lap and took her small hands in his. She looked up at him with a sad smile on her soft lips, squeezing his hands in return. She cleared her throat again.

"I've never told anyone all that." Dagmar sounded surprised at herself. "Thanks for listening." She held Phil's hands, feeling his work-worn skin against her own. He smiled at her, and she leaned into him, wanting to feel his arms around her. Taking the hint, Phil enveloped her in his strong arms, pulling her close to him as she wound her own arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his light brown hair. Dagmar breathed deeply, grateful to him for his quiet understanding. He gently stroked her long hair again, and she sighed contentedly, no longer caring about hiding her feelings for him.

A loud knock brought them both out of their reverie, and they sprung apart as Jake cracked the door and stuck his head into the room.

"Well, hey hey, lovebirds," he teased, winking at his dad. "Not interrupting anything, I hope!"

Dagmar stood up, her heart still thumping in her chest. She rolled her eyes at Jake and began to pick her way through the clothes strewn about the floor.

"Very funny, Jakey." She ruffled his dark hair as she slipped by him, leaving the room. He impishly wrinkled his nose at her as she shuffled into her own cabin and shut the door. Turning back to Phil, Jake opened his mouth to tease him some more, but stopped when he saw the look on his dad's face.

Phil sat on the bed, still a bit shell-shocked, trying to remember every detail of the last few moments: Dagmar's soft hair, the minty smell of her skin, how her lithe body felt in his arms. He breathed deeply.

"Holy shit, dad. You really do love her, don't you?" Jake crossed the room, sitting down next to Phil on the unmade bed. He hadn't ever seen his dad act like this. Sure, Phil had dated lots of women, but Jake and Josh both knew that none of them were right for him; they couldn't deal with Phil being gone for months out of the year, or they didn't understand when he had to take care of business with the boat. Jake in particular hadn't cared for any of the women Phil had dated; he always knew his dad could do better, and Dagmar – she was young, yes, but so right for Phil. And she obviously really cared about him. Phil looked sidelong at Jake, still seeming a bit lost.

"Yeah, Jacob. I do." Phil propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, stretching out his back. He sighed as he rested his chin on his hands.

Jake's first instinct was to tease his dad for all he was worth, but something held him back. Instead, he slung an arm around Phil's shoulders, squeezing him lightly.

"Just go for it, big guy. You should tell her how you feel."

Phil looked up into his son's earnest brown eyes; for once, they didn't carry the glint of a prank or joke in the works.

"You think so, huh?" Phil rubbed his neck. A big part of him wanted to find Dagmar that second and pull her into his arms, kiss her, and then tell her how much he loved her. He shook his head. No sense acting like a schoolboy just yet – the trip wasn't even halfway over. What if she freaked out when he told her? _That would make for a long next few weeks, man…_ Phil stood up, pulling on a clean t-shirt.

"Let's get back to work, Jake."

"But, Dad – " Phil was already out of the room. Jake shook his head in amazement. _Dad is in love with Dagmar. Whoa… I have to tell Josh!_ With that thought, Jake stood up sharply, almost losing his balance, and went to find his brother.


	9. The worst string we've had in years

Thanks for being so patient with my long absence, everyone! I had a couple of work and health problems in the last month, so please forgive me for not updating sooner. I've got a couple more chapters in the works, so they should be up soon as well. There's a tiny bit of coarse language in this chapter, so if that bothers you, you know what to do. Thanks again for the lovely reviews!

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"**the worst string we've had in years"**

The long days of fishing and little sleep were catching up with the crew. As they all suited up that morning, Dagmar couldn't help but notice the Cheshire cat grins on both Harris boys' faces. _I don't even want to know_, she thought as she tiredly dragged her orange oilskins up and snapped the suspenders closed. She yawned as she jammed her baseball cap on her head and cinched the hood of her raincoat tightly around her face. Her stomach twisted – but not unpleasantly – as she remembered the feeling of Phil's arms around her and the way his soft hair had brushed her face that morning in his cabin. A small smile crept onto her lips, which she quickly tried to wipe off when she noticed Jake eyeing her, his dark eyes sparkling under the brim of his dirty cap. She narrowed her eyes at him, causing him to break out in a smile of his own as he passed by her, patting her shoulder knowingly. Dagmar shook her head as she pulled on her heavy deck boots and straightened up, following the rest of the guys outside.

As soon as they stepped out onto the wooden deck, the crew of the Cornelia Marie knew they were in for a rough day. The winds had picked up in the night, and cold gusts whipped over the bare deck, blowing sea spray in Dagmar's eyes as she struggled over to the rail. Phil had the Cornelia Marie pointed into the waves, which was the safest for the crew and the boat, but when they started pulling pots, they would be slightly in the trough, between waves, which meant a lot of water would be coming over the rail. Murray had taken pity on everyone and decided to come out on deck that day; he knew that the guys were all exhausted and would appreciate the extra pair of hands. He stepped over to the crane to test the controls as Dagmar leaned over the rail, looking for the first buoy in the string, hook in hand. She spotted the orange and white buoys ahead of them, but immediately had to duck as a wave of freezing water washed over the low rail. Straightening back up, she flung the hook out to catch the trailer line and quickly pulled it back in, hand over hand. As she set the line in the coiler, Dagmar kept an eye on Dave and Jake, who were leaning over the rail to see if there was anything in the pot. It was too easy to slip overboard in these kinds of conditions, and if that happened, your crewmates were generally your only hope of survival. As the pot rose above the violently cresting waves, Jake and Dave swore in unison. Dagmar and Freddie watched, crestfallen, as the pot came above the rail. The only thing the pot contained was a single codfish, flopping indignantly at being pulled out of the water, its grey body writhing angrily. Murray maneuvered the pot onto the launcher for Jake and Dave to untie the door. Josh, grumbling at their bad luck, climbed into the pot to untie the hanging bait as Dave threw the single cod into the bait bin.

"Obviously, we're going to stack these up, guys." Phil's terse voice came over the loudhailer. Dagmar stole a glance up at him; his mouth was set in a straight line as he contemplated pulling an entire string of empty pots and how that would set their season back. She sighed as she turned back to the rail, looking for the next pot, while Freddie and Dave pushed the empty pot to the other side of the deck. The next pot was also blank – this time there wasn't even a codfish.

"Haulin' water today guys, haulin' water." Murray tried to keep the mood light, but with each blank pot coming over the side accompanied by freezing water and spray, the attitudes on deck got progressively worse. Even Freddie, who was usually jovial even in the most awful conditions, went about his work with a scowl on his deeply tanned face.

They worked for hours, pulling up empty pots and stacking them on the side. The crew silently moved around the rolling deck, focusing on staying upright in the progressively worsening weather. It began to rain. Hard droplets of freezing water stung Dagmar's face as she looked up to the blackening clouds.

"This is the worst string we've had in years," Dave muttered as he attempted to wipe some of the water from his face. Dagmar looked at him closely as she retied the door on the last empty pot in the string. He was a young man, but today he seemed much older; the lines around his eyes deepened as he gazed out at the angry sea. She was about to say something to him, but Phil's voice interrupted from the wheelhouse.

"Get inside for a couple of minutes, guys. I'm going to go down the hill a little bit and see if we can't set on some crab. I think we're too shallow here," his voice crackled over the speaker. "Don't get too comfortable, though. We'll probably start up again in about fifteen." Wordlessly, the crew staggered into the storage room in the bow of the ship. Dagmar and Jake flopped down onto some extra coils of rope, while the others tried to prop themselves against spare bait bins or buoys.

"This is some shit." They all looked at Freddie, who was leaning against a pile of white bait bins, his arms crossed. Suddenly, the situation struck Dagmar funny, and she snorted, trying to stifle her laughter. The lack of sleep and hours of back-breaking labor was making them all crazy, and Dave started to grin at Dagmar's unladylike snorts. She punched his arm, which caused Murray to chuckle. Soon they were all rolling around the dirty storage room in peals of exhausted laughter.

"Hey, guys, at least we get to hang out in the Voodoo Lounge for a little bit," Jake quipped between laughing fits. Dagmar cleared her throat and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"You know, when we start setting, maybe we should let Josh start tying some doors and throwing the buoys," Murray suggested. "Give him a little break from the monotony of bait." Josh looked up hopefully, his large brown eyes interested.

"Sounds good to me." Dave stretched out on a pile of nylon line, resting his blond head on his hands. "I don't mind doing some bait."

"Sweet." Josh looked pleased. Their conversation was interrupted by the buzzer sounding from the wheelhouse – Phil was signaling that he wanted to start dropping pots soon. Dagmar stood up, giving Jake a hand, and they all staggered back out into the weather, which hadn't gotten any better during their short break.

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Ten pots into the string, Josh was having trouble doing things to the rest of the crew's standards, and Jake and Dave were hounding him mercilessly. Accepting more responsibilities on a crab boat also meant encountering more dangerous situations, and anytime a crew member was handling lines, they had to be extremely careful. As Murray craned the next pot over to the launcher to be baited, Jake tried to instruct his brother on the best way to properly tie the door down.

"Damn it, Josh! The door needs to be tighter than that! Here, let me do it." Jake roughly tried to push Josh out of the way, but Josh held his ground. Jake glared at him angrily and grabbed the door tie out of his hands. Josh stepped back from the pot, seething, as he stalked over to pick up the buoys. Murray silently launched the pot over the side and Dagmar hoisted the line into the crashing waves. Josh irritably threw the buoys after the sinking pot, narrowly missing smacking Dagmar in the face with the smaller trailer buoy. She turned back to Josh to reprimand him, but he'd already turned his back to help haul the next pot onto the launcher. Dagmar bit her tongue as she stood back to let Murray get a better view of the work area; she'd let Josh slide just this once. She watched as Josh flung open the door of the next pot and pulled out the shots of line and buoys, tossing them haphazardly to the deck. Dave slithered inside to bait the pot, and as Dagmar watched the ropes and buoys roll out over the wet wooden planks, creating a serious safety hazard, she felt her face flush with anger at how childish Josh was being.

"Josh!" Dagmar yelled, and he whipped around to face her. Pointing angrily, her voice deepened. "That pile of line right there is a pile of shit! If you can't handle working the pot safely, you need to go back to doing bait!" She felt her face contort in anger, but she didn't care. Josh was putting himself and everyone else in danger by letting the line fly all over the deck like that.

Josh's lips pursed as he slammed the door down and tied it off. _Why can't everyone just leave me the hell alone?! I'm so sick of this shit! _Murray eyed him carefully as the pot splashed into the water. Exhausted and frustrated, Josh whipped the trailer buoy toward the rail after the pot. Instead of going over the side, the buoy rope hit Dagmar's hip as she stepped back from throwing the shots over, and in a split second, it had wrapped three times around her leg. Josh immediately realized his grave error, and he looked at her in horror, eyes wide. He couldn't move.

Dagmar looked down at the rope wound tightly around her leg and knew in an instant that she was dead. Before she could pull her knife out, before anyone could help her, the rope pulled taut and dragged her toward the rail. She violently hit the metal side of the Cornelia Marie before she was pulled over into the freezing cold Bering Sea.


	10. Love

Thanks for being so patient after the big cliffhanger everyone! First things first:

DC Fanatic - Thanks for your review! I've been reading your Phil fic, and it's really great! Some really delicious scenes, if you know what I mean ;-)

jessewalla - I really appreciate your thoughtful comments in the reviews. I'm not a massage therapist, but I recently had to have some PT and was fascinated by the techniques. I've done some research on it, but am by no means a professional! I'm going to check out your story today after I get this posted.

Big thanks to Siren67, thecatchisdeadliest, ordermask, DC Fanatic, and jessewalla for being my faithful readers and reviewers!

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**Love**

She couldn't breathe. _Oh God._ Freezing water and rain rushed around her as Dagmar struggled against the waves. She finally forced her lungs to draw in a painful, shuddering breath just before she was pulled back under the frigid water by the line around her leg. Fighting off panic, she felt around her waist for her knife, pulling it off of her belt after what seemed like ages. She hurriedly reached down to her knee and hacked away at the line that bound her to the rapidly sinking crab pot. Pain shot through her as she gashed her leg, but the line broke free and she kicked towards the surface. Breaking the top of the water, she looked up to see the dark hull of the Cornelia Marie rising and falling in the massive waves above her head, the bright lights beaming down onto the surface of the Bering Sea. She faintly heard yelling and saw the crane moving toward her, but her vision was beginning to grey, and she could no longer feel her arms. She kicked weakly, trying to stay above water, but felt the strength being sapped from her limbs. Dagmar thought of Phil and how much she had left unsaid between them, and knowing she was about to die, she felt an enormous weight of regret pull her down. Her vision was almost totally gone now, but she glimpsed the crane lowering something yellow toward her. What was it? She strained to see… It was the rescue sling. Her last chance. Summoning all of the energy she had left in her body, she kicked toward it and forced her arms over her head like a diver, praying she would feel the sling around her. Everything went black.

*********************************************************************************

On the deck of the Cornelia Marie, the crew was frantic. Murray had thought quickly when Dagmar went over the rail, grabbing the rescue sling from its storage space next to the base of the crane. He quickly rigged it to the picking hook and Dave immediately swung the crane out over the water. Josh was beside himself, tears brimming in his eyes as he grabbed the sides of his head.

"Josh! Get to the rail!" He heard his brother screaming at him, but he couldn't move his feet. Josh dropped to his knees, feeling the pain of his kneecaps hitting the wooden deck, but not caring at all.

_Because of my stupidity, the woman my dad loves is dead. He finally opened up to somebody again, and I killed her. _Josh felt like he was going to pass out as tears flooded from his eyes.

Phil was beside himself as he threw the boat in reverse, trying to stay stationary against the battering waves. He grabbed for the loudhailer, knocking it to the desk before picking it up.

"Murray, Goddamn it!" he cried into the speaker. "Help me stay straight to her!" Murray raised his arms to guide Phil, keeping a simultaneous eye on both Dave and Dagmar in the water. The Cornelia Marie protested against being abruptly thrown in reverse; she began cavitating so hard the men on deck could feel the boat vibrate beneath their feet. Phil's hands were shaking with nerves and fear as he opened his side window to try and see better, but the hard rain slapping against his face only obstructed his view of the deck even more.

Dave was standing at the crane controls, intently focusing on the orange of Dagmar's rain gear and trying not to lose sight of her. Seeing her come up for air again, Dave lowered the sling as close as he could; it hit the water about six feet from Dagmar's struggling form. The other men were standing at the rail, praying she would find one more ounce of strength and get into the sling. Jake began to scream encouragement at her. Seeing her make one last effort to get in the sling, the men held their breaths.

"She's in! She's in it! Get her the fuck outta there!" Freddie yelled to Dave, who was already raising the crane as quickly as he could without losing Dagmar. Dave had seen her body go limp after she dove into the sling, and he knew that if she fell out of the sling, she wouldn't have another chance. He kept his eyes trained on her as he swung the crane over the deck.

As soon as Phil saw Dave bring her over the rail, he picked up the loudhailer again.

"Josh! Get the hell up here and take the wheel!"

Josh unfolded himself from where he'd been crouching on the deck, his face stained with tears as he looked, scared, at Dagmar's unmoving form on the deck. His crewmates surrounded her, and he forced his legs to obey his dad's command. He stumbled into the door and through the galley. Phil passed him, running down the hall.

"Just keep her from going under!" Phil yelled to his elder son as he flung open the door to the deck, his heart rising in his throat as he came upon the crew hunkered down around Dagmar.

Her face and lips were blue. _Oh, God. _Phil crouched down beside her as Murray felt for a pulse at her neck.

"She's got a heartbeat! It's weak, but it's there!" Murray yelled as the rain continued to beat down on them, soaking Phil, who was only in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Phil couldn't speak as he looked down at the woman lying on the deck. She didn't look alive. He felt anger rising in his chest, but for whom, he didn't know – Josh? The Bering Sea? God?

"Come on, Dagmar! You can't leave my dad like this!" Jake screamed at her motionless form.

_Dagmar felt peacefully relaxed. Ah, this warmth was so wonderful, after being thrown into the Bering Sea in the middle of November. Wait a second – did this mean she was dead? Dagmar tried to open her eyes to check out her surroundings, but everything remained dark and quiet. Where in the hell was she? She tried to move her arms, legs, anything to feel out her environment, but her limbs wouldn't respond. 'Well, if this is the afterlife,' she thought, 'it's pretty damned boring.'_

_Suddenly, she saw a bit of light and heard voices. She tried to move toward them, but making any headway at all was like wading through waist-deep mud. The voices became louder and she thought she recognized Murray's hoarse tone. Dagmar strained to get closer to the sounds – if she could find Murray, she could find Phil! That thought invigorated her as she heard another yell, louder still – it was Jake, she was sure of it. She had to get to him! She had to get to Phil! Suddenly she felt like she was being sucked away from the darkness –_

At Jake's yell, Dagmar abruptly began coughing up water. Murray and Dave turned her on her side as she violently heaved and spit seawater onto the deck. She immediately began to shiver brutally, her teeth audibly chattering. Her eyes tiredly searched the men's faces above her, stopping when she locked eyes with Phil. Wordlessly, he picked her up in his arms as if she were a baby and swiftly walked towards the house door, kicking it open and taking her into the warmth. The crew followed behind, concerned, as Phil gently but quickly unbuttoned her raincoat and unclasped the suspenders holding her rain pants on. She'd lost her work boots in the sea when they'd filled up with water, and Murray silently helped maneuver her out of the clammy rubber pants. Phil picked her up again and strode purposefully toward the shower, careful to guard her head and legs as he walked down the narrow hallway.

"Get me some warm clothes for her, would you?" he asked Murray. Murray went into their shared cabin as Phil took her into the shower bathroom and shut the door. He had to get her soaked clothes off of her quickly so her body temperature could come up; right now her flesh was like ice under his fingertips.

"Just lean against me, sweetie," Phil said softly. Dagmar obeyed as he pulled her long-sleeved t-shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. He knelt and she leaned heavily on him as he pulled her sweatpants and socks down, leaving her in only bra and underwear. Hesitating only a moment, Phil gently eased off her panties and unhooked her bra, sliding it off of her arms. He quickly pulled off his own shirt and held her wildly shivering body against his own, trying desperately to warm her up as quickly as possible. Phil reached inside the shower and slapped the faucet on, turning it to hot right away, as he stepped out of his own pants and underwear. He felt a bit shy in front of Dagmar; he hadn't ever expected to see her naked body for the first time under these circumstances. He enveloped her in his arms again and gasped softly as her freezing cold skin touched his. He tried not to focus on how good her slim curves felt pressed against his body with nothing in between them, or how smooth and soft her skin was compared to his own.

"I'm s-s-s-sor-ry," Dagmar managed to say between chattering teeth.

Phil looked down at her. "What do you have to be sorry for?" he asked incredulously. He reached in the shower to test the water temperature, hugging Dagmar even closer to him.

She took in a shuddering breath. "F-f-for m-making you c-cold."

Phil chuckled as he reassured her, "I'd stand out in the middle of the deck naked if it would keep you from being this cold."

Dagmar tried to laugh, but was hit with another violent bout of coughing.

"Come here, we need to get you warmed up." Phil helped her into the shower and then stepped in after her. He held her with firm arms as the hot water streamed over their bodies. Dagmar laid her head on his chest and leaned into him as they stood, steam beginning to hang in the air. Phil gently smoothed some loose strands of her wet copper hair from her cheek and tucked them behind her ear. Her shivers began to subside as he lovingly stroked her smooth, well-muscled back.

Phil was thanking his lucky stars as they stood there in comfortable silence, Dagmar leaning closely against him. The last time one of his crew had gone overboard, they hadn't even been able to recover his body. Pulling Dagmar back from that watery grave had been nothing short of a miracle. He sighed with relief, finally allowing himself to relax a bit. Dagmar tilted her head to look up at him, and he softly pressed his lips to her forehead, tasting the sea salt on her skin. She smiled softly.

"Dagmar," Phil began haltingly.

"Hmm?" she asked sleepily. The tiredness in her voice tugged at Phil's heartstrings. He didn't want to overwhelm her with talk of their relationship just now, but he had to say something. He cleared his throat.

"If… if anything had happened to you… I don't know what I would have done." Phil frowned; none of this was coming out right. "What I mean is, I wouldn't have had the chance to tell you that… well…"

Dagmar wrapped her arms more tightly around him. He glanced down at her in surprise, seeing her beautiful clear blue eyes looking drowsily but purposefully at him.

"I love you too, Phil."

He stared down at her, almost not believing what she'd said. Pulling her tightly to him, he looked down at the water beating against her colorfully tattooed back.

"My God, I love you so much," he whispered in her ear, burying his face in her wet hair. He never wanted to let her go.


	11. She closed her eyes as they kissed

Alright guys, this chapter is (very) short and sweet and definitely involves some sex, so if that bothers you, just skip it! Thanks again to all who are reading and reviewing.

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**She closed her eyes as they kissed...**

The small cabin was bright with the sunlight streaming through the porthole above the bed. Dagmar could feel its warmth on her face before she even opened her eyes, and she relished those last few seconds of sleep leaving her body. She was lying on her side, and she could feel Phil sleeping quietly on his back next to her, his arm around her still. She opened her eyes, only a bit, and her lips curled in a smile as she nestled more comfortably into the crook of his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. He sighed in his sleep and pulled her closer to him. Dagmar reached up to press her lips to his neck; Phil drew in a long breath and slowly looked down at her with sleepy eyes. She smiled up at him, and he beamed back contentedly as he smoothed her hair. She propped herself up on her elbow, gazed down at him, and gently stroked the side of his face with her hand. His light blue eyes followed hers as she took in every detail of his face - the wrinkles around his eyes, his semi-groomed facial hair, the small smile on his smooth lips. Almost without thinking, Dagmar leaned down and pressed her lips to his.

Phil dreamily returned her kiss. He couldn't believe this was happening, but it felt so right. He gently kissed her bottom lip. She pulled back and looked questioningly at him, as if she was wondering if this was okay. In answer, Phil placed a hand on the back of her neck and leaned up to meet her lips again. He lightly slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she parted her lips to accept his advance. Phil caressed her cheek with his palm as their kiss grew deeper, moving his other hand down her bare back, taking in the feeling of her soft, smooth skin. Dagmar played with his hair at the base of his neck, slipping her tongue between his lips, running her fingers through his hair as he pulled her closer with a low moan deep in his throat. She wanted to feel his naked body against hers, and she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him with abandon. Phil gently but surely broke their kiss; he needed to taste more of her, and he moved his mouth along her jawline and down her neck. He sucked on the hollow above her collarbone, playfully nibbling at her skin, making her giggle and pull him closer. Continuing on, he moved on top of her, smoothly maneuvering her onto her back as he dropped soft kisses down her breastbone, relishing the feeling of her heart fluttering under his lips. She gasped softly as he brushed his mouth over one of her breasts, moaned as he took her nipple in his mouth. He looked up at her face; she was radiant with desire, a passionate smile on her pink lips. She spread her legs under him, wrapping them around his hips as she leaned up to kiss him again; this kiss was harder, more wanting, and Phil was almost overcome with passion. Dagmar ran her hands down his rippling back; dropping one hand between them, she reached down to guide him inside of her. As he slowly entered her, the feeling brought her legs up around his waist; she had to will herself to relax before he could slide in all the way. They stayed still for a moment, relishing the sensations they both felt deep in their bellies. He filled her up completely, and Dagmar found that she was holding her breath. Phil looked deeply into her eyes as she slowly let her breath out and grinned at him, running a hand down his back and placing it on his butt to hold him inside of her for just a little longer. He returned her smile, his clear blue eyes shining, as he slowly began to thrust in and out. Her body responded to his and she moved with him, their breathing synchronized as he moved over her. She reached up to press her mouth to his again, and he gently stroked her hair as she sucked on his bottom lip. Time passed and neither of them noticed; they were so wrapped up in each other. Dagmar wanted this to last forever, but she felt her body straining to reach its peak. She pulled him more strongly inside her, and Phil could tell she was about to go over the edge. He thrust into her, his hips pushing against the backs of her thighs, deeper and deeper. Dagmar arched her back with a moan as she climaxed, and Phil followed her only a second later. Breathing hard, he looked down at the beautiful creature beneath him; her skin glistened slightly with sweat, the curves of her body laid out before him. He slowly leaned down to cover her mouth with his, wanting to remember every touch and caress. She closed her eyes as they kissed, and Phil admired her long russet lashes lying softly against her cheeks. When she looked up at him again, her blue eyes were shining brightly. She smiled and sweetly kissed him as she pulled him down onto her, wanting to feel his weight on her body. He was still inside her as they wrapped their arms around each other. Phil buried his face in her wavy shock of hair, smelling the perfect and now-familiar scent of this woman that he loved.


End file.
